taking steps in my direction
by ohstylo
Summary: They're sprawled out across the living room sofa. [Post-Phase 3.]


They're sprawled out across the living room sofa, with only Russel's occasional thunderous snore disrupting the silence.

Murdoc sighed as he rolled over onto his back, wishing for the hundredth time that night that he had just gone to his room and drank himself to sleep like he'd planned to. Or more likely, laid on his bed and stared into the dark until morning came. Anything but this idiocy.

Noodle had stopped Murdoc on his way to his room to tell him that the band would be camping out in the living room that night. "Like a family," she'd said. Mudoc had snorted and ruffled her hair. "We're a bit too old for that sleepover shit, don't ya think, love?" And he'd continued making his way up the stairs.

A vice grip on his arm had stopped him. You owe me, she'd whispered, looking straight at Murdoc with that knife sharp edge to her gaze that hadn't been there 5 years ago. There had been something else in her eyes though, a kind of bone-deep weariness that spoke of so many sleepless nights. Murdoc knows she has been suffering from night terrors since her return. He's been suffering them himself. And so he had relented.

It was pathetic really, the lengths he would go to get back in her good graces.

So he found himself on the far right side of the sofa, Noodle curled up like a cat on the left, with Russel's head resting on the space between them. The rest of his body, still too large for the furniture, was comfortably resting on a pile of cushions on the floor.

2D, who upon seeing that Murdoc was occupying half of the couch, had scuttled to the other side of the room to take up residence on the armchair and had not moved from that spot for the rest of the night.

Murdoc can hear him now, fidgeting restlessly, the chair creaking slightly under his insignificant weight as he shifts. It must be nearly morning, but 2D has not slept, and Murdoc knows he can't be comfortable. It is with this thought that he slides off the sofa and makes his way to the other side of the room.

"D," he says. "Go sleep on the couch." It comes out like a demand.

The room is dark, but by the soft blue glow of the stereo he can see 2D looks frightened. Of him.

"N-no, Murdoc, it's alrigh'! I'm fine on the chair!" In his distress, he has forgotten to whisper, and Murdoc snarls at him to shut up. 2D tenses even more if possible, raising his arms above his face as though he expects to be hit.

It's a wonder the others haven't woken up.

Murdoc swallows and softens his tone. "Y'aren't comfortable here. So. I'll take the chair. 'M not sleepin' anyway."

2D blinks. He's quiet for several long seconds, and then does as he's told. "Um, thanks Murdoc."

Murdoc, he calls him now. Not Muds, or M, or any of the other various monikers 2D had attached to him over the years. He thinks of the days in the beginning, long hours spent doing nothing in Murdoc's shitty flat. Making music and laughter, limbs slung over each other, getting high. He doesn't get do that anymore. He's long since lost the right to that easy camaraderie. Thinking of the way 2D acts around him now hurts, though. It's like he tries to blend into the walls when he sees Murdoc, like he wants to make himself invisible. He never speaks to him unless prompted. To an outsider it would appear as though they were strangers, acquaintances at most. Not like they had once been the most important person in each other's lives.

Well, he thinks bitterly, D still is the most important person in his. Always will be. Funny way he has of showing it.

Murdoc knows it's his fault, would never try to deny it. He fucked up. It's as simple as that. He fucked up on that stupid beach, had fucked up long before that. It isn't until he hears a questioning noise from the sofa that he realizes he's spoken aloud.

"I fucked up, D," he whispers hoarsely. His eyes feel strangely hot. "You- you didn't deserve. Any of that. What I've done to you. And I'm-."

He chokes down the apology beginning to bubble in his throat. Those are words he will not say. He could never say them. He hopes 2D will understand what he means.

Minutes pass, and then.

"Um. Murd- Muds? You can sleep here on the sofa with me, if ya'like. There's room."

So Murdoc slinks off the chair and lies down silently next to him. They curl around each other, so close but not touching, like two puzzle pieces that had once fit perfectly but are now bent and frayed at the edges and take a bit of work to slot together again. The air between them is a bit thick, but less so than before. It's comfortable.

Finally, they sleep.


End file.
